


Where Thirsting Longing Eyes Watch

by embroiderama



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-19
Updated: 2010-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-06 11:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jess and Sam take a study break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Thirsting Longing Eyes Watch

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "Echo" by Christina Rossetti. [](http://elanurel.livejournal.com/profile)[**elanurel**](http://elanurel.livejournal.com/) asked for het, hot chocolate and poetry, so this is for her. Thank you to [](http://innie-darling.livejournal.com/profile)[**innie_darling**](http://innie-darling.livejournal.com/) for betaing!

Sam loved to watch her when she didn't know he was there. He could smell hot chocolate in the air--her study drink of choice, chocolate to make her happy, she said. As if she heard his thought, she smiled down at the page, turning one tissue-thin page with her pink-painted fingernail, and Sam felt the irritation of another day without his LSAT scores in the mail slide away.

Jess had one leg curled under her, the other stretched out on the bed, her gym shorts hiking up to let him see the edge of her underwear. Her tank top pulled up to show a strip of skin, and her sports bra was crumpled on the floor. Big earmuff-style headphones covered her ears, but they weren't plugged into anything, just blocking the pounding beat of the neighbor's stereo. She tapped two fingers on her outstretched thigh in time to a different rhythm, and her lips formed silent words, her eyes locked onto the textbook anthology propped in her lap.

The poetry class. She hadn't been too excited about fulfilling her core requirement in English, had tried to talk Sam into taking the class with her even though he'd knocked out the requirement with Modern American Novels his freshman year, but by the time they were three weeks into the semester she was hooked. She had a theory that it was like painting--brushstrokes forming a picture--and Sam couldn't argue when she spoke her favorite lines into his skin, whispered them against the back of his neck as they fell asleep at night. He'd never liked poetry. The rhythmic words made him think of exorcisms, of Latin learned under Pastor Jim's patient eyes, of the rhythm of the road passing under him and taking everything away. Almost everything.

Jess's eyes closed while her lips moved, and Sam thought of prayer. He prayed every night--wordless hopes, eyes open as he stared out into the darkness and tried to sleep. Jess let her head tilt back against the wall, her eyes still closed, and as she spoke the words out loud Sam recognized the poem. The same one she'd been reading for a week--stuck on it the way Dean used to get stuck on a song, playing it over and over again until his fingers knew how many whirring seconds were necessary to rewind.

_Oh dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet,  
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise._

Sam knew this one by heart now, as much as she did, and he didn't want to hear the last stanza, didn't want to hear it for the sick echoes it set up with his own screwed-up dreams. She paused to take a drink from her mug, head tipped far back showing off the length of her neck, and he knocked on the door frame. She didn't notice, the headphones doing too good a job. He walked into the room, letting his steps fall heavy on the floor, and she sat up too fast, startled into sloshing chocolate out of her mug and onto her shirt and skin.

"Shit!" Sam jumped forward, grabbing for her bra on the floor to mop the hot liquid off her skin, but she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Relax, it's totally room temperature." She pulled her headphones off and set them on the bedside table. "I was almost done with it anyway."

"You're not burned?" Sam blinked hard against the flickers of flame from his dreams.

"I'm fine." Jess closed her book and put it on the floor. "C'mere."

Sam kicked off his sneakers and climbed up to straddle her legs. He let himself fall forward to kiss her, and her mouth tasted like chocolate. He braced his hands on her warm, bare waist and kissed his way down her throat until he found more of the sweet bitterness. He licked every trace of it from the top curve of her breast, following its path to the place where her breasts touched. He slipped his tongue between them into that warm place and lapped up more of the skin-warmed liquid.

He looked down and saw more chocolate staining the front of her white top. Jess moaned as Sam cupped his lips around the thin cotton and firm flesh underneath and sucked out the sweetness. He licked down, wetting the fabric further, until he finally felt her nipple hardening under his tongue. He swirled his tongue over the fine ridges of cotton, drawing the fabric taut with his teeth.

Her hips bucked up against him, and he slid his hands along her sides, pushing her shorts and panties down until she could snag them with her feet and kick them across the room. Sam's own clothes were suddenly too thick, too much, too there, denim trapping sweat against his legs, not enough room behind the zipper, the neck of his t-shirt not quite letting him breathe. He pressed a damp kiss to Jess's stomach and then pulled away, stumbling backwards off the bed just long enough to unzip, push his pants and boxers down, wrestle his shirts up over his head.

Jess hummed in approval and reached out her hands to touch his chest as Sam climbed back up on the bed. Sam returned the favor, cupping both of her breasts in his hands and teasing her nipples with the calloused sides of his thumbs until she gasped brokenly, the gentle curve of her belly trembling and beaded with sweat. She reached down and touched Sam with one long-fingered hand, and he felt himself trembling, too.

She let her knees drop open to the sides, and he slid into the space she made, pushed inside her, and then he couldn't think anymore. Lost to motion and sensation and when he felt her tighten around him, heard her breath stutter as her hips pushed up against his, it was everything, everything. He came inside her and then slumped down, breathing into the warm place between her breasts.

"_Pulse for pulse_," her words puffed out almost soundlessly into his ear. "_Breath for breath_." And as he fell asleep he prayed only that he would not dream.

~~~

Echo  
by Christina Rossetti

Come to me in the silence of the night;  
Come in the speaking silence of a dream;  
Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright  
As sunlight on a stream;  
Come back in tears,  
O memory, hope, love of finished years.   
Oh dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet,  
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,  
Where souls brimfull of love abide and meet;  
Where thirsting longing eyes  
Watch the slow door  
That opening, letting in, lets out no more.

Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live  
My very life again though cold in death:  
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give  
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:  
Speak low, lean low,  
As long ago, my love, how long ago!


End file.
